


Finding Your Music

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Autism, Languages and Linguistics, M/M, Mental Illness, Music, Piano, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-08
Updated: 2007-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an episode of <i>House, MD</i> I decided that I wanted to write about an autistic character who is also a savant and plays piano.  This is what resulted.  Though it's been a labour of love a couple of months in the running, I did not get a formal beta and my knowledge of autism comes entirely from research, so forgive me if there are any mistakes there.  As far as I know, however, autism manifests itself very differently in different cases, so I'm hoping I'm not too far off the mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Your Music

Dominic was running late.

Dominic was always running late, it seemed, as he was often too distracted by one pretty shiny thing or the other to get his act together and remember where he was supposed to be and when. Today, however, he felt like a particular arse. He was supposed to be meeting a woman from work for afternoon tea, and as he so far had a grand total of two friends in Glasgow, he didn't want to burn any bridges because of his own stupidity.

The job in question was at the Glasgow Public Library, where Dominic worked as a reference librarian. He had gone to uni in England and gotten a degree in literature, but there was very little you could actually _do_ with said degree, it turned out, and his mother really wanted him to quit dossing about at home, so he'd packed up and made the move north on the recommendation of one of the aforementioned Glaswegian friends. He liked working in the library, as he was a social person and he loved research—finding things for other people, and especially discovering all the different things that people were looking for, was fascinating to Dominic. He loved hearing some of the odder queries an embarrassed student would come up with, and in fact it was as a consequence of one of these that he had befriended Margaret.

~*~

"Erm, yes, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I might ask a question…?"

"Well that's what I'm here for!" Dominic replied with an enigmatic grin, leaning forward slightly onto the desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, you see, I'm looking for a book… erm, it's for a special project…" The poor girl looked about sixteen, and very frightened. She wore her hair short, dyed black with a fringe, and her glasses were thick and also black. She kept pushing them up on her nose, evidently a nervous habit, and had trouble meeting Dominic's eye. Oh, this was going to be good.

"Right, then. Why don't you tell me about your project? Don't worry, all queries are confidential. Reference desk policy," Dominic informed her with a wink.

"Oh, erm, thank you." She smiled, looking flustered, and glanced up at him briefly before studying her hands again. "Well I was wondering if you have any books on… erm… lesbianism."

Dominic grinned brightly. Ah ha. This _would_ be a fun one. "Why as it happens, that particular query is right up my alley!" The girl gave him a suspicious look and he laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Well not lesbianism, per se, but homosexuality in a general sort of sense," he explained, keeping his voice low out of deference to her embarrassment, though he was never very good at keeping quiet in the library in most cases. "It's a special interest of mine," he explained with a wink, and this time she grinned rather broadly. "So did you have a particular focus for your project?" he asked with a conspiratorial smile.

"Erm, anything really," she admitted with a shy smile. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Right then. Come with me," he advised her, stepping out from behind the desk and winking over her shoulder at Margaret, the local interest specialist who had been standing over the girl's shoulder watching with a little smile on her face, as he steered the teenager towards the stairs.

~*~

They'd had a bit of a laugh, later, when Margaret had asked about it over lunch in the staff lounge, and Dom had explained that he was bisexual, not gay, but that he had a soft spot for nervous queer teenagers, despite never having really been one himself.

No, although Dominic had been happily flamboyant and very good-natured about it his entire life, coming from a very open-minded family and having been a pre-teen in Berlin when he officially "discovered" his sexuality, he wasn't daft enough to think that was the case everywhere. So, as a teenager he had volunteered for a gay teens support group in Manchester, and had been so good at it that one of his adult colleagues had recommended him for a job working with special needs children while at university. He loved community service, and in a way he felt that being a reference librarian was just that, lending a service to the community. Margaret had liked his way of putting it and invited him to tea.

"Oh bloody bollocksing hell," he muttered to himself as he checked his watch, hurrying down the street to the small tearoom at which they had agreed to meet. Wouldn't be the first time he'd been late for a date, but he did have to work with this woman for an indefinite period of time, and he didn't want to make an awful impression.

Fortunately, however, when he was half a block away, he realised that Margaret was walking just as quickly, and muttering to herself much in the same way as Dominic, from the opposite direction. He grinned and waved, and she laughed in relief.

"Jesus, I'm so glad you're late. I'm horrible at coming up with appropriate apologies in situations like this," she confessed, offering him a hug when they came to a stop in front of the café.

"No worries at all, love. I'm always late. Nasty little habit of mine; comes from being ADD and always flitting about, forgetting appointments. Not that I forgot this one, mind you, but I got a little sidetracked by a pretty bird on the windowsill."

Margaret burst out laughing and held the door open for him. "God, you really _are_ gay."

He grinned as he stepped inside. "I'm not completely gay, or I wouldn't be on a date with you. But I told you mine, what's your excuse?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Much less amusing, I'm afraid. My brother's autistic. He lives with me, and we normally spend Saturday afternoons together. He gets a bit… upset at routine changes."

"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry Margaret. I shouldn't have…"

"No, no, don't worry about it," she insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "I need to have a life of my own, and he's all right. I spent a few minutes with him at the piano, and he calmed down."

"Well, that's good," he agreed, still frowning a bit as the host approached them.

"Two for tea?"

"Yes, please," Margaret agreed, and they followed the man to a small table next to the window. "This is a lovely little place," she said once they'd sat. "They do a set afternoon tea service for two, if that's all right with you. It's really quite good."

"Sounds perfect," Dominic agreed with an easy smile. "I'm not hard to please."

"Well that's good to know. And Dominic please, call me Maggie. All my friends do."

"Okay," Dominic replied. "But then I must insist that you call me Dom—all my friends do as well, as few of them as there are."

"Oh tosh, I don't believe that for one second," she objected. "You're such a social creature."

He shrugged. "In a way. But I've only been in Glasgow for a month, and as much as I like to interact with others, I don't have many close friends. I'm frightfully boring, I must admit, outside of work."

She laughed and shook her head. "Can't be worse than me. All I ever do is read and take care of Billy."

"That's your brother?" Dom asked as a waiter appeared with a tea service on a large platter.

"That's right," she replied with a nod. "He's nearly forty, and he's not extremely low-functioning—he can talk and dress himself and do a lot of things—but he has limited social skills. He really can't understand body language or facial expressions… he has a job as a typist from home, because he does very well with written words, but he can't process abstractions, so he seems almost childish when you talk to him. He's a bit of a slave to routine, as I mentioned, so it's just easier to live with me and I've never minded much. We work well together."

Dom smiled as he poured the tea for them both and added a bit of honey to his own. "There was an autistic boy in my job at uni who was a bit like that. He loved literature, and he had this amazing ability to internalise descriptions, despite the fact that he didn't really understand the larger concepts. He was only seven years old, but he had read all of _Les Miserables_, and he loved it—he'd sometimes quote entire ten page sections of those bleak descriptions of the Parisian underworld, but if you made a comment, for example, about the social iniquities or concept of justice in the work, he'd stare at you with a blank look. He saw everything in pictures, and he said when he read Hugo the words reminded him of the most brilliant paintings." Dom smiled at the memory and took a sip of his tea.

"That's lovely," Maggie replied with a fond smile, running her finger around the rim of her own teacup. "Billy likes me to read to him sometimes. Poetry, mostly, because it's more concrete, more visual. It's all about the shapes of the words and tone and the way you read it. He's very auditory, so the sound of my voice calms him… he can understand nuances that non-autistic people can't, and it's so strange… he thinks in pictures, too, but I don't think it's the meanings of the words themselves that he sees, it's the actual quality of their sounds as he sees them in my tone of voice. It's the same way when he plays the piano, I think. To him, visual and auditory are linked much more closely than they are in a 'normal' person's brain, so the savantism means that he actually sees the music in pictures."

"That's beautiful," Dom replied sincerely. "I love to play the piano myself… have since I was a small boy. It's just such a brilliant escape, you know? The one thing I can do and really focus."

"Billy gets very upset sometimes, especially when his routine is broken, but he loves the piano," Margaret explained. "It's the one thing I can have him do and he'll forget everything else. I know savantism is supposed to just relate to memory, and that he's only good at the piano because he can memorise such complex chunks of music, but I can't believe that it's a rote exercise for him. I mean, he has trouble expressing it in words, so there's no way you or I can fully understand it, but he's seeing such a vivid landscape of images in his mind's eye. I think he can communicate with music, too, in a way he can't with words.

"Unfortunately, though, that doesn't make him very social. Non-autistic people just can't understand communication that isn't verbal, and I try, but frankly I'm a very verbal person myself and I don't know much about music. If it he played an obviously 'happy' or 'sad' piece, I could relate to that, but it's so much more complex. Makes me feel a bit inadequate, sometimes," she admitted with a frown.

"Does he know any other autistic people?" Dom asked as the waiter returned with a platter of sandwiches. "I know sometimes they can communicate with each other in a way that we can't. Understanding vocal nuances and that sort of thing," he suggested as he took a cucumber-and-cream cheese sandwich.

"He did as a child," Margaret replied, choosing a sandwich with olives for herself. "He had some friends, sort of, but Billy's always been quiet. Even if he weren't autistic, I don't think he'd be an extremely outgoing person. He likes to sit with me in silence, or play the piano while I sit in the same room and read. I can tell that he's happier when I'm there, but he doesn't talk a lot. I think that can be frustrating for autistic people in the same way it would be to a non-autistic person who's more talkative."

"Does he use the computer much, outside of work? I've heard that can be a more effective means of communication."

"Sometimes. And it is easier, I think, but there are some of the same problems. Even when you don't have to worry about facial expressions and body language, you have to be so patient with an autistic person, and very literal. Billy doesn't really understand figurative language or abstract thinking at all, and sarcasm is completely lost on him. It can be quite painful for someone who isn't used to it, and frustrating for him. He's rather prone to pitch fits when he's upset, and people who've tried to get to know him have mostly given up after a while. Pity only gets you so far," Margaret explained with a shrug. "Most people just think he doesn't _have_ emotions because he can't express them in a familiar way. I don't blame them, really."

"Well, you're clearly a wonderful sister," Dom said with a smile. "He's lucky to have you."

"Thank you," Margaret replied, reaching across the table briefly to squeeze Dom's hand. "But I must seem awfully boring, nattering on about my brother. Tell me more about yourself. You were in Manchester before coming here?"

Dom nodded. "Manchester for ten years or so, all over Germany before that."

"Are you fluent in German?"

"I am. German literature was my speciality in uni, actually, but I like all sorts."

"So depressing though, a lot of it."

"German literature? Yeah," Dom agreed. "It can be. But a lot of times the most depressing is also the most beautiful."

Margaret smiled. "You have a point. It's the same with music, or art. Beautifully tragic."

"You wouldn't know I was into all that, would you? I come off so happy-go-lucky, and in reality? Closet depressing-literature addict."

"Only closet you've ever been in, I'd wager," Margaret agreed with a giggle.

Dom grinned and raised his teacup in salute to her. "Too right. I like happy things as well, though. Farce, satire. _Candide_ is one of my favourites, and I love playing Gershwin and Scott Joplin."

"'The Entertainer,' right? I like that one."

Dom nodded. "I like jazz, too, and traditional Irish music. I've got quite diverse tastes. Ideal for a reference librarian, I suppose."

"Irish music is nice. Billy plays a bit of it, from time to time. He plays the fiddle, in addition to the piano. He's amazing on it, actually. You can hear even more variation in it, like he starts with what he's heard but then he starts to play it differently, depending on his mood. It's fascinating."

Dom grinned. "When I was a kid, I used to pound out Beethoven's Fifth when I was in a really bad mood. Mum knew not to bother with me, then."

"For Billy, it's Ravel. I don't know why, but Ravel is his anger music," Margaret explained. "Our parents died when we were teenagers, and so our Gran raised us until she died when I was twenty. When Billy would pitch a fit, she used to ask if he needed some 'time with Ravel.'"

Dom grinned. "I can certainly relate. What's his happy music?"

"Rimsky-Korsakov," Margaret replied without hesitation. "Though you mentioned Gershwin, 'An American in Paris' is one of his favourites as well. Not when he's really excited, but just a general good mood song."

"That's a good one," Dom agreed. "So tell me how you got into Glaswegian history. Did you do a history course at uni?"

Margaret nodded. "I had to go part time, working, but I managed it in six years. I've always been fascinated by the city. I knew I couldn't leave for family reasons, and I'd like to travel, but I've never really felt pinned down by it. It's fascinating, especially the really old stuff, medieval and earlier."

"She says to the English blighter across the table."

Margaret laughed and shook her head. "I've no bones to pick with the English. Not the modern ones, anyhow. It's not your fault. My da, though, he was a real patriot. I'm sure he's rolling over in his grave as we speak, me being on a date with an English lad."

Dom raised his cup heavenward in mock seriousness, looking up at the ceiling and murmuring a "sorry, Sir" that had Margaret in a fit of giggles.

"You were born in Glasgow, then?"

"Aye. I'm a Glaswegian through and through. I might not mind the English much, but my blood runs blue and white."

Dom grinned. "What did your parents do?"

"My da was a book binder. Mum didn't work. She taught Billy in the home, though. Things are much more progressive now; back then… well if he'd gone to school, he would've been killed," Margaret explained, matter-of-factly. "But things worked out well enough. She taught him until she died when he was thirteen, and she was very patient. He's more intelligent than you'd realise, right off. Learning concrete things comes easily to him, and he learned to read and write without trouble, and to do maths. He likes to draw, as well. Sometimes when he's frustrated and can't explain what he wants to in words he'll use pictures. I suppose he's learned that it's easier for me to understand that than music," she explained with a shrug. "But mum was very good with him. She understood that he had feelings, even if he couldn't always express them, and she figured out ways to reward him that would make sense. He had a few very difficult years when she died."

Dom frowned and squeezed her hand in sympathy. "Do you live in the same house, then?"

"Aye. A move would've been too difficult for him, and we've a lovely piano. His room is organised the way he likes it, and he can go there when he's had a bad day. Sometimes he'll sit and just rearrange the books and albums, over and over again. It's calming to him, though I'm damned if I have any idea what his system is. It's not alphabetical or anything, but sometimes he'll sit with the books and read a page aloud from each, and then there's something about the way the words sound that makes him categorise them a different way. But then if I read to him, he hears it differently and frowns and puts the book back in a different place," she explained with a smile. "I'd give anything to be able to see the world as he sees it, if only for a few minutes. I'm sure it's very complex, but it's like seeing a map without a key."

"Or a library without a catalogue," Dom mused, and Margaret grinned.

"That's exactly it."

"Has he been to the library before?"

"Yes, but it's a bit much for him. He's not very comfortable in situations where a lot of people are around, and colleagues would come up to talk to me and it would make him nervous. He likes the books, but when he tried to give me tips on rearranging them, and really had no idea why his system wouldn't work for most people, he got very frustrated. I decided it was best not to try that again."

Dom nodded. "I feel that way sometimes about the library. I mean, not exactly, but some of the ways they categorise things are completely daft. I think I've got it all sussed out and then I realise I'm completely wrong about something or another. Or someone will have a query, and I'll find the perfect book for them three days later, when I'm researching something completely different. Frustrating."

"That's why I'm happy with my one small section," Margaret admitted with a smile. "I know everything there is to know about every local history resource. Though we also get a lot of Americans and Japanese coming in looking for travel guides—bit annoying, that."

"Yeah, I've gotten tourists at the desk asking for a map of Glasgow. I don't think they quite understand that it's a _library_, not general reference for the city. I try to give directions and probably put them worse off than where they started."

Margaret laughed as she poured some more tea into their cups. "Glasgow's not too hard; you just have to get used to it. I'll explain it to you one day."

"Is Billy good with maps?" Dom asked, cocking his head to the side. "I had one boy who had the most amazing memory with maps, could tell you where every bloody street was in a ten mile radius, draw it all out by heart…"

"I don't know," Margaret admitted with a shrug. "Might be. I've never really shown him any. But he does have a phenomenal memory for things like that, so it's quite possible. He can quote films like you wouldn't believe, but then you ask what the scene was about or what it means more abstractly and he has no idea. Can play the scores perfectly, though."

"Does he sing?"

"Sometimes. He has a lovely voice, a bit quiet but really lovely. I think it makes him self-conscious, though. He prefers the piano or the violin to his own voice."

"I don't blame him. I like to play, but I hate to sing. At least, for other people. I used to be in choir for church, and it made me feel rather self-conscious as well. I sing along quite loudly to the radio in the privacy of my own flat, though."

Margaret grinned as the waiter returned and replaced the sandwiches with a tray of sweets. "Doesn't everyone?" Dom laughed, and she helped herself to some lemon tarts. "Are you Catholic, then?"

"C of E, but I don't go to church much anymore. You?"

"We're Catholic. We still go every Sunday, because it helps Billy mark the week. He likes the carols, as well. You should come one day if you don't mind a Catholic service," she offered.

"Maybe. I always feel a little strange in a church, but I might some time."

"Why do you feel strange?" Margaret inquired as she nibbled off the corner of a biscuit.

Dom shrugged. "Church isn't very welcoming of people like me, is it?"

"People like what?" she asked with a little mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Englishmen? Librarians?"

Dom rolled his eyes and kicked her very lightly under the table. "Bisexuals, yeh big numptie. Man shalt not…"

"…lie with man as he lies with woman, aye, I know. Doesn't mean every Christian believes it, though."

Dom shrugged. "A lot of them do."

"Well, they've been welcoming enough to Billy and I. I suppose it's enough for me."

"It's a bit different, isn't it?"

"Billy's gay," Margaret replied with a shrug.

"He is?" Dom asked, looking a bit incredulous. "How do you know? I mean… you said he wasn't very social…"

"He's not. He told me."

"Oh."

"When he was a teenager; I don't even remember how it came up. I had to explain gay and straight to him, though, and he said he thought he was the first one. He feels differently when he sees a man than when he sees a woman. Said they have different music," she recalled with a smile. "He thinks of people in terms of their music, rather than words. Like 'friendly' or 'daft' have musical associations for him, I think. He can't explain it another way."

"What's your music?" Dom asked curiously.

"Chopin." She smiled and shook her head. "Prelude in A minor. It's one of the only pieces I know by name."

"A lovely piece for a lovely girl," Dom agreed with a little cheeky grin.

"Oh come off it, you," Margaret muttered, but she was smiling and blushing. "Bet you say that to all the librarians."

Dom grinned. "Only the cute ones."

Margaret rolled her eyes and took another sip of tea. "So how did you end up with this job, then? Did you ever work in a library before?"

"No. I have a friend here who works at the university. He heard that there was a vacancy for a reference librarian and I faxed them my CV. Apparently enthusiasm and experience with academic research makes up for any actual knowledge of the field," he joked. "Any road, I've always loved libraries. My da was a teacher; I used to doss about at the library after school and read anything I could get my hands on. That and the museums; there are some really bloody great ones in Germany."

"What sorts of museums?"

"Oh anything, really. Art, history… I just liked to learn, especially on my own time. Felt less tedious than school that way."

Margaret nodded. "You know, Billy can learn so much through memorising, but I wonder sometimes if he actually _enjoys_ it. He likes to play the piano, I know, but it's also a more basic form of communication for him, as well as an emotional outlet. I don't know if it could ever be just a fun hobby."

Dom shrugged. "Might be that certain songs are. I know I read somewhere that when they're not prompted to do something specifically, savants who are visual artists will draw or paint what they want to, when they feel like it. Even the ones who are good at math will do calculations because they feel like it, and they relate to certain equations more than others, I would think."

"It's not unlike how anyone relates to the world, I suppose," Margaret agreed. "We all perceive things differently, don't we? A bit like blind people who use the ocular part of their brain to hear, so that they see sounds. Billy sees both thoughts and sounds. Same idea."

"In another time, maybe it would have been considered a gift," Dom agreed with a shrug. "They would have called your brother a seer and lavished him with tribute. Every civilisation has a different way of organising the world. It's a basic human need, I reckon, to feel different from others, like there's something special that distinguishes us from other civilisations, other times. Who's to say what's barbaric, or immoral, or mentally 'challenged?' They're all variations on the same theme."

Margaret smiled at that. "I think you may have a lot in common with my brother, you know. You're a very clever lad, Dominic."

Dom shrugged. "I pay a lot of attention. Don't give me credit for more than that."

"I give credit where credit is due," Margaret argued. "Are we about ready, then? I should get back."

"Oh, of course," Dom agreed, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and producing a few notes to cover their meal. "Can I walk you home, then, or did you drive?"

"I walked; it's just a few streets away. Maybe you'd like to come in, meet Billy? I can't guarantee how he'll react; a lot depends on his mood."

"I'd love to. If it upsets him I can show myself out."

"Okay," she agreed, standing and following Dom to the door. "Please don't be offended if he doesn't take to you. He doesn't always do well with new people, but it depends. He's usually just a bit quieter, trying to observe and interpret."

"All right. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just be aware of yourself. Say exactly what you mean, and try to depend more on words than on facial expressions or body language. He does all right with language if it's not too abstract; he just can't extrapolate from and interpret it like we can. But if you've worked with autistic children it shouldn't be too difficult for you."

"You're probably right."

"Well, this is it," Margaret announced, pointing out a row of steps leading up to a brick house in a row of similar buildings. "Nothing fancy, but it's home."

Dom smiled. "I live on the third storey of a building with no lift. This is lovely."

Margaret laughed and turned the key in the lock. Dom could hear the strains of Schumman from behind the door and he smiled. "Fantasie," he murmured under his breath, and Margaret gave him an inquisitive look before stepping inside.

"Billy, I'm home," she called softly over the music. "I've brought a friend with me."

The man at the piano didn't pause, but Dom recognised the final movement of the piece and smiled, standing slightly off to the side as Margaret locked the door. He was slight and unimposing, wearing a moss green jumper and charcoal grey trousers, ginger hair curling up at the nape and looking in need of a trim. But his fingers moved with a grace Dom had rarely seen from so close, his eyes closed as his entire focus clearly centred on the music.

When the song was over, Billy opened his eyes, as if emerging from a trance, and saw Dom standing there. He frowned slightly and turned again, until he met Margaret's eyes.

"Hello, Maggie," he greeted her, pleasantly enough but without a smile.

"Hi, Bills. This is my friend Dominic. He works at the library with me," she explained, holding her hand out towards Dom. "He plays the piano, too."

Billy turned again to Dom, and this time spent a bit more time looking at him. "Dominic," he pronounced slowly, as if testing the syllables. _Making a picture for me,_ Dom realised in his head. _Finding my music, maybe._ "You play?"

Dom smiled and nodded before realising that the gesture might not translate. "I do. It's one of my favourite things. I love that piece you were just playing."

The corners of Billy's mouth went up in a half smile. "I like it. It's rainbows," he said, and Dom smiled at the seemingly random comparison.

"Will you play for me?" Billy asked, looking at the piano and then back at Dom. Out of the corner of his eye, Dom noticed Margaret looking mildly surprised.

"Okay," Dom agreed simply. "What song do you want to hear?"

Billy frowned, and Margaret interrupted gently. "He doesn't know the names of the pieces," she explained.

"Ah. Well that's all right, Billy. May I play you one of my favourites?"

"Yes," Billy responded, and after a moment scooted over slightly on the bench. "You sit here," he said, his tone sounding a bit petulant as he looked at the seat next to him. He probably didn't realise it, though, and Dom wasn't offended. He sat where indicated, feeling Billy's thigh warm against his own, and blushed slightly as he ran his fingers over the keys. _Naturally, Margaret's brother has to be bloody attractive._

It took Dominic a few minutes to come up with an appropriate song, but Billy didn't seem concerned, waiting patiently until Dominic finally started into the theme from "Love Story." He'd played the tune a thousand times, but this time he took extra care, drawing out the pauses and attacking the _forte_ sections with particular gusto, imagining how the piece would sound to someone who had such a large percentage of their brain dedicated to nuances of tone and rhythm.

"What do you hear?" he asked quietly after a moment, fingers still moving up and down the keyboard. Billy's eyes were shut again, and his hands rested loosely in his lap.

"Thunderstorms," Billy replied with a frown after searching a moment for the right word. "And… cherries, there."

Dom smiled and finished the final arpeggio, his foot holding the sustain pedal for a moment before he let it go. "Thunderstorms and cherries. I like that."

"Again," Billy requested, and with an encouraging nod from Margaret, Dom began the piece anew. Only this time, after a few bars, Billy joined in, first picking up the melody in a lower register and then contributing complementary chords to create a duet. It was amazing, for having only heard the piece once, but Dom assumed that was the case and he had heard of stranger things. He imagined how Billy might see the music, as a collection of shapes and colours as real as a film or a painting, and wondered if the way he composed in real time was like a non-autistic person putting a brush to canvas—if he simply filled in where he saw white spaces.

Dom wasn't an expert composer, but he had a solid foundation in music, and so after a few minutes, as the piece was drawing to a close, he let Billy continue, filling in his own variation on the theme so that the song continued, Billy in turn adapting to the movements of Dom's hands. By the time they finished, they had been playing for more than fifteen minutes, and Dom wondered if he would ever find fulfilment in playing alone again.

"Thank you," Billy said after a long moment, and again Margaret looked surprised. Apparently Billy hadn't quite grasped his p's and q's, which didn't really surprise Dom, as he knew the social limitations of autism could make polite conversation difficult. He reached out slowly, not wanting the startle the other man, and squeezed Billy's hand gently.

"You're welcome," he replied, and Billy looked up, suddenly, his eyes surprisingly clear and bright.

"Your hand feels nice," he said, matter-of-factly, and Dom smiled.

"So does yours."

Again, Billy smiled that half-smile, and Dom suddenly felt guilty, noticing Margaret hovering on the edge of their little exchange.

"Erm… I should go, now. May I visit you again?"

"Yes."

Dom smiled. "I would like that. I'll see you soon then, Billy?"

"Yes," Billy agreed, and Dom squeezed his hand a little tighter before standing from the piano. He turned to Margaret with a little apologetic smile, and then, suddenly, turned back and played a quick little happy trill on the high end of the keyboard. Billy looked startled, briefly, but then he clapped his hands in delight, his giggle awkward and too loud but lovely to Dom's ears.

"Bye, Billy."

"Goodbye, Dominic."

Margaret smiled as she led him to the door, and the sound of the piano returned, another variation on the "Love Story" theme.

"Sorry about that," he offered in a low tone as they stood in the open door. "I reckon it's bad manners to hold your date's brother's hand when you haven't even finished the first date."

Margaret grinned and shook her head. "Don't worry about it, Dom. I pegged you more as a good friend to have around, anyway. No offence."

"None taken," he assured her.

"You're great with him, though. You will come back, right? Play with him some more? He'd love it."

Dom smiled and nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't lie to him."

"I know you wouldn't mean to," she replied, biting her lip. "But sometimes people do, ye ken, unintentionally. Better plans come up."

"Maggie. I honestly can't think of anything I'd rather do right now. And I'm being perfectly serious."

Margaret grinned and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. That really was lovely, the way the two of you played together. Like a conversation, almost."

Dom smiled and shrugged as he stepped backwards off the porch. "It was."

"See you Monday, then?"

"Right-o. Have a good weekend."

"You too, Dom. Goodbye."

 

When Margaret snuck up from behind him in the library's computer lab during his lunch break, Dominic knew he'd been caught. He turned away from the printer with a sheepish smile, not bothering to hide the pages of sheet music whooshing out into the tray, one by one at an almost alarming speed.

"Satie?" Margaret glanced curiously at the top page, and then flipped through a few more. "And film scores…"

"I thought maybe, erm, I might be able to learn some more that Billy would like to play with me…" Dom admitted, rubbing his hand vigorously at the scruff of his neck.

Margaret smiled and gave Dom's hair a little ruffle. "Don't be embarrassed. That's incredibly sweet. You want to come back, then?"

"Maggie, I bloody _told_ you. Of course I want to come back. I've been practicing since Saturday. Now that I think about it, see, I realise that I'm a bloody _amateur_ compared to your brother, but that was such a fucking rush, you know? So uplifting, to be able to play together like that… it was like putting together a really challenging puzzle, or like you said before, a conversation. I feel like I've known Billy forever, even though we've just met…" Dom broke off, shaking his head. "Oh hell, you probably think I'm fucking insane and won't let me anywhere near him."

Margaret giggled. "Not at all, Dom. But don't worry so much, okay? He's not going to care if you 'mess up.' It's like speech—if you misspeak, people will forgive you. He can pick up where you left off, fill in the blanks… he's a forgiving man, very kind-hearted. You'll see. And you have the benefit of being able to talk to him in a way I simply can't," she added, with a touch of regret in her tone.

Dom frowned. "Maggie, I'm sorry. You know, if you ever wanted to learn…"

"No," she objected. "It's not that. I could've a long time ago, but I didn't bother with lessons because I knew Billy had to learn to communicate with other people on their terms, if he was going to be able to function at all in the world. And he does, quite well in fact given his limitations. I just think it's nice for him to be able to let go a little bit. He can relax when he plays. You said you were fluent in German, right?"

Dom nodded, looking a bit confused. "Yes…"

"Well you've not been back for a while, have you?"

"Not since I was a teenager," he confirmed.

"Exactly. So if you tried to speak German now for a long period of time, a few weeks or sommat, you'd get tired. You'd start to slip a bit, maybe, or at the very least you'd crave some English conversation. It'd be a bit exhausting to have to translate your thoughts every time you wanted to ask a question, or tell someone how you were feeling. And you wouldn't always have the right word every time. You'd have to come up with alternatives, ways of expressing yourself that weren't _quite_ right. I'd imagine it would be rather frustrating, right? Well it's the same for Billy."

Dom stared at her for a moment, and then slowly broke into a broad grin before leaning forward and kissing her cheek. "Maggie, you are bloody brilliant!"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm not that…"

"Listen, I have an idea. I have to hurry before work, but… Friday? Can I come over on Friday when we're done here? I'll cook for the two of you; I promise I'm a good cook."

"Well… okay," Margaret agreed, slightly flustered. "I suppose that would be all right."

"Perfect! Friday then…"

 

Dom stood on the Boyds' doorstep, his finger trembling slightly where it stood suspended in the air, a centimetre away from the doorbell. Either this would be brilliant, or it would go horribly, horribly wrong and he'd offend Billy and make Margaret never want to talk to him again. He sighed and rang the bell.

"Coming!" he heard from inside, over the sounds of the piano. Rimsky-Korsakov, today. Well, that was a good sign. Dom wondered if Margaret had told Billy that he was coming.

"Dom!" Margaret exclaimed as she threw open the door, looking a little frazzled. "Come in… I went ahead and started tea, since I left before you did. I have to get back to the vegetables, but Billy's here; you go ahead…" she babbled, already moving back to the kitchen. Dom smiled and locked the door behind himself before approaching the piano where "Flight of the Bumblebee" was just ending.

"Hello, Dominic," Billy said without turning around.

Dom smiled. "I didn't know you knew I was here."

"I heard the sound of your voice," Billy said simply, and he sounded happy. Dom couldn't stop smiling, though his fingers were tapping nervously against his hip.

"May I sit here?" he asked, not wanting to presume.

"Yes."

Billy turned a bit as Dom took a seat next to him at the piano bench, and Dom was once again startled by how wide and green his eyes were. He wondered, not for the first time that week, what it would be like to see the world from behind them. "I had an idea," Dom begun, and when Billy didn't say anything he barrelled on. "I want to talk to you today."

Billy frowned. "We are talking."

"Yes," Dom agreed, gently. "But we're speaking English."

Billy frowned again. "I don't speak any other languages."

Dom grinned. "But you do, see. The music. Music is the purest form of language there is."

Billy frowned. Dom didn't think he understood, but he didn't stop.

"I want to use the piano to talk to you, Billy. Like… here, this is how I feel when I see you," he explained, and started immediately into Gershwin's First Prelude, the hesitant suspended notes of the introduction awkward and expectant, but giving way quickly to the jubilant flurry of notes and energetic rolls that characterised the song. He hoped the meaning would translate as well to Billy in his visual thinking as it did in Dom's own more verbal mind, but he didn't ask. He played the entire piece through, and then stopped, turning to face Billy again. "Do you see?"

For a moment, Billy didn't react. Dom was sure his experiment had failed. But then, Billy leapt forward, a jerking motion almost enough to make Dom fall off the bench in his surprise, and dove headlong into a frantic sonata that Dom recognised vaguely as something by Aaron Copeland. He grinned as Billy made his way through the almost spastic little trills and syncopated chords, silent until he finished.

"That's you," Billy explained with a broad grin when he finished. Dom smiled in return and squeezed Billy's knee gently. He considered responding in words, but changed his mind and turned again, letting his joy flow into his fingers in the form of "Maple Leaf Rag." Halfway through the song, he was startled to find Billy giggling, and his fingers faltered slightly at the feel of Billy's hand on his knee, the pressure light but so significant in Dom's mind. Before he could bugger up completely, though, Billy's hands joined his own on the keys, supporting the frame of the song until Dom could recover and continue through, his hand dropping wordlessly back down—this time to Dom's thigh.

Dom could smell chicken and herbs from the kitchen as he finished, but Billy didn't seem eager to leave the piano for his supper, instead answering Dom's musical contribution with another of his own, the more sedate but pleasant Intermezzo in A major, a Brahms work Dom had once had to learn for a recital. "Sunday afternoon," he whispered to himself, and after a second's delay to process the words Billy beamed at him, nodding with wide eyes as the two men realised exactly how well they understood each other in that moment.

"Boys! Tea's ready!" Margaret called from the next room, and Dom frowned. Billy too seemed in no mood for tea and pouted, his fingers not leaving the keys. After a moment Margaret poked her head around the doorway, and Dom shrugged apologetically. She hesitated for a moment, but when Billy finished the song she came up behind him and put both hands firmly on his shoulders, leaning down and murmuring in a gentle tone.

"Billy, it's time for tea. You can play with Dom more after tea."

His frown deepened, and he shook his head. "I don't want to eat. Dom and I are talking."

Dom didn't contribute to the conversation, figuring it best to leave between family, but a part of him remarked how odd it now was to hear Billy speak, the childish edge tingeing his words in a way for which the maturity of the music didn't allow. The music gave Billy the freedom to be an adult, Dom realised, to respond with a full range and complexity of human emotion that words didn't give him. He wondered what it would be like, to be trapped so inescapably by language. Margaret's analogy had been perfect, but for one thing—Dom could leave Germany, and come back to England. Billy couldn't leave the speaking world.

 

"Please don't go," Billy requested, his tone gentle, when Dom finally admitted that it was getting late. Tea had come and gone, with Billy finally relenting and agreeing to eat, and he had been quite reserved during the meal, but afterwards Dom coaxed him to the piano again and played a gentle, melancholy Schumman étude to convey his sympathy for the situation. Billy responded with Lizst's "Scherzo and March," and Dom could hear the frustration in the way he played. Searching for a moment, Dom finally came up with a bit of humour to diffuse the situation, much as he always did, and broke into the theme from Pink Panther, which worked like a charm to improve Billy's mood.

They had played a Mazurka by Chopin, a few pieces by Debussy, and Grieg's playful, teasing "Norwegian Dance" before Dom realised that several hours had passed, and Margaret was yawning from where she sat patiently in the armchair reading. Still, Billy's pleading was so earnest that Dom was about to offer just one more song when Margaret stood from her chair.

"It's very late, Billy. Maybe Dom can read something to you before he goes?" she suggested, and Billy frowned before finally saying "yes."

"Billy…" Dom ventured quietly as Margaret went to the bookshelf to find something. "… are you tired?"

Billy frowned for a moment, considering, and then smiled brightly. "No," he said, and Dom grinned. They had been 'talking' for hours, but Billy wasn't tired or frustrated. Dom felt a warm sense of relief.

"Why don't you come over here and sit on the sofa?" Margaret suggested, handing Dom a volume of Burns poetry. Dom was grateful when she disappeared off to the kitchen again as they sat on the couch, for Billy seemed to relax a bit more, sitting very close, and even leaned his head on Dom's shoulder after a moment's hesitation. Flipping through the book, Dom found "A Fiddler in the North" and smiled.

"Amang the trees, where humming bees, at buds and flowers were hinging," he read, doing his best not to muddle the Scottish versions of words printed in the book, "O, Auld Caledon drew out her drone and to her pipe was singing, O: 'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels, she dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O: When there came a yell 'o foreign squeels, that dang her tapsalteerie, O."

Dom took a deep breath when he reached the end of the stanza, and smiled as he realised that he hardly understood the meaning of the words any better than Billy did. Absently, the hand that wasn't holding the book slid behind Billy's back, and Billy shifted easily so that his head was more on Dom's chest, allowing Dom to slip his arm around Billy's shoulder and gently brush his fingers through Billy's wayward curls as he continued.

"Their capon craws an' queer 'ha ha's,' they made our lungs grow eerie, O; the hungry bike did scrape and fyke, till we were wae and weary, O: but a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd, a prisoner, aughteen year awa', he fir'd a Fiddler in the North, that dang them tapsalteerie, O."

Dom coughed lightly when the poem was finished, still stroking Billy's temple, and Billy whispered sleepily in response. "That's a lovely poem."

Dom smiled. "Has Maggie ever read you that one?"

"No," he replied with a yawn. "I like you to read to me, though."

"I have a bit of trouble with the Scottish words. I'll bring a book next time, though, and read to you from something I like."

"I would like that," Billy agreed, just as Margaret appeared in the doorway again.

"I have to go now," Dom whispered, bending his head to gently kiss the top of Billy's. "Maybe I can come back on Sunday, after church?"

"Yes," Billy agreed, sitting up a bit to let Dom go. "Come back Sunday."

This time when Margaret walked Dom to the door, she gave him a slightly suspicious look. "What?" he asked.

"Just… you know Billy's never asked for someone, like that. He hates changes in his routine, like I told you. I'm surprised he'd want you to visit at random."

"Oh, but I'm such a charming bloke," Dom argued with a grin.

Margaret rolled her eyes. "Clearly. You know, I heard you ask about the poem."

"Yeah?"

"I've read it to him hundreds of times. It's one of his favourites."

"Really?" Dom frowned. "That's odd. I wonder why he'd lie."

Margaret grinned. "He didn't. He's never heard it in your voice before. I don't even think he recognised it."

"Oh." Dom frowned again, and then smiled brightly. "I could bring a German book next time, then? I mean, if it's only the shape of the words he's listening to…"

"Sure," Margaret agreed. "Though I don't know how he'll react, I mean, the sounds will be strange to him even if he doesn't quite pay attention to the meanings of the English ones."

"Oh. Well it's worth a try, though. Right?"

"Of course," she replied with a reassuring smile. "I need to get some sleep now though, Dom, and as much as he hates to admit it, so does Billy. We'll see you after Sunday lunch?"

Dom nodded. "I'll be here. Two 'o clock?"

"Best make it three. You can stay for tea if you like."

"Okay. Thanks Maggie. You're a doll."

She rolled her eyes as he kissed her cheek. "Good night, Dom."

~*~

"Dominic!"

Dom smiled at the excitement in Billy's voice, a real rarity, as Billy himself rather than Margaret opened the door.

"He's been looking forward to seeing you all day," Margaret explained with a little smile from her chair as Dom stepped into the living room, giving Billy a hug, which he thankfully returned.

"I have a song for you," Billy explained, and not bothering to waste any more time with words he scurried over to the piano, leaving Dom to follow at a slightly more sedate pace, though he noticed Billy didn't begin until he had taken a seat on the bench in his usual spot.

Billy's hands slid over the keys gently a few times before he began, almost a caress, and then he started into the piece—a melody Dom recognised instantly as "The Music of the Night."

"This song… is me?" he asked when Billy had finished, cocking his head to the side. It was a beautiful piece, especially as Billy played it with many more embellishments than the standard piano accompaniment, fraught with layers of passion, but it wasn't exactly how Dom saw himself.

Billy frowned. "No," he replied, taking a moment to choose his words before continuing. "This… is what I feel… when you are here," he explained, and then frowned again. "Do you understand?"

_Oh, wow._

Dom nodded and laid one hand on Billy's thigh, squeezing gently. "Yes," he replied, wishing Billy could interpret the subtlety of emotion behind the single word but knowing he could not. Margaret was starting to look interested, however, so Dom decided they'd better get back to music. Turning to the piano he took a moment to think, and then smiled as he thought of something appropriate, hoping he could do the piece justice.

It had been a long time since he'd last played the Spanish work, but it was incredibly sexy and always made him think of long hot summer nights and pitchers of something cool and sweet and alcoholic. As he made his way through the arpeggios, stumbling slightly, Billy picked up on the theme and kept it alive, and Dom felt his heart do a somersault in his throat when Billy's forearm brushed his own so that his hand could cross Dom's to hit a series of notes high on the keyboard.

When they finished there was a pregnant pause, but it was comfortable, their hands resting side by side on the keyboard. Billy lifted his slightly and ran his fingers over the back of Dom's hand, tracing the veins and then feeling his wrist and forearm. Dom's eyes fell shut, and fuck, he hoped he wasn't taking advantage of the situation, but he'd never been so enamoured of someone quite so quickly in his life.

"Did you bring a book?" Billy asked quietly, and Dom smiled with his eyes still shut.

"It's in my bag," Dom replied, and he reached for the shoulder bag he had deposited next to the bench, surprised Billy would choose being read to over playing but happy to oblige him. "This is one of my favourite novels in German," he explained as they moved to the couch, facing Margaret, and he toed his shoes off before putting his feet up on the coffee table. "It's called _Die Verwandlung_."

Billy smiled. "I like that word. It's round."

Dom laughed and opened the book to the first page. "I suppose it is. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Kapitel Eins. 'Als Gregor Samsa eines Morgens aus unruhigen Träumen erwachte, fand er sich in seinem Bett zu einem ungeheueren Ungeziefer verwandelt. Er lag auf seinem panzerartig harten Rücken und sah…'"

Billy sighed and snuggled slightly into Dom's side, his eyes falling closed. Dom's breath caught a bit in his throat when Billy rested his hand over Dom's chest, and then he realised that Billy was feeling the vibrations of his voice. Margaret smiled slightly at them over her book and Dom forged on, reading five pages before he stopped and turned to Billy.

"Is this all right?" he asked, worried about what Margaret had said Friday night regarding the possibility of confusion with a foreign language.

Billy smiled and opened his eyes. "Yes," he replied, and then the hand on Dom's chest crept up until Billy was gently touching the side of his face, his finger sloping down to trace Dom's lips. "It's beautiful. I've never heard anything like that before."

Dom stared at him, a little uncomfortable with Billy's sister sitting _right there_, and also slightly frightened by the strength of his urge to kiss the man. "Thank you," he replied simply, and cleared his throat. "Shall I… shall I continue?"

"Yes," Billy agreed, and put his head down again, this time sliding down on the couch so that his head rested in Dom's lap. Margaret looked up at them, briefly, and then went back to her book, a fact for which Dom was extremely grateful. When Dom went home that afternoon it was Billy, and not his sister, who walked him to the door.

 

"Billy asked me to ask you if you'd come over for dinner tonight," Margaret announced, leaning over the reference desk on her elbows with a little roll of her eyes. "I feel a teeny bit like the popular girl's best friend in secondary school."

Dom grinned and crossed his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. "Aw, Maggie, am I one of the popular girls?"

Margaret snorted. "I assume you're coming then?"

"Course I am," Dom agreed.

"Because you don't have anything better to do?" she asked.

"Because it's Billy," he corrected, and she smiled.

"Good answer."

 

This time, Dom and Margaret showed up together, and when Dom stepped in the door Billy was waiting for him with a new song—or rather, a new arrangement of an old one. Dom grinned when he recognised the theme from James Bond, albeit with a very Billy-esque twist.

"Name's Monaghan," he whispered, leaning over so far that his lips brushed Billy's ear. "Dom Monaghan."

He wasn't sure Billy would get the joke, and was delighted when the other man giggled, his hands pausing on the keys. In a bit of a giddy mood himself, Dom sat down and launched immediately into the theme from "Peanuts," his hands flying across the keys as Billy continued to laugh in his awkward, but not-at-all self-conscious way. His hand gripped Dom's leg tightly, and when Dom finished he carried on into "Master of the House" from _Les Miserables,_ a song that, Dom realised, really was quite cheerful when you took out the irony of the words.

The next half hour was full of film scores, and then Dom went to help Margaret fix tea. After a few minutes, however, the sound of the piano stopped and Billy showed up in the kitchen, smiling and stepping up behind Dom as he chopped vegetables at a rapid-fire pace.

"Die Decke abzuwerfen war ganz einfach; er brauchte sich nur ein wenig aufzublasen und sie fiel von selbst," he whispered, and Dom's hands paused a moment in their chopping, taking aback by the sound of German coming from Billy's lips. It was a selection from "die Verwandlung," he realised, and Billy must have memorised it, but there was something strange as well about the way he spoke, pitched deeper than usual and… English. Billy was reciting in Dom's voice, Dom realised, and why wouldn't he be? It must be like music, Dom reasoned—Billy could remember all the subtleties of the sound, after all, and therefore he could reproduce them.

"Aber weiterhin wurde es schwierig, besonders weil er so ungemein breit war. Er hätte Arme und Hände gebraucht, um sich aufzurichten; statt dessen aber hatte er nur die vielen Beinchen, die ununterbrochen in der verschiedensten Bewegung waren und die er überdies nicht beherrschen konnte."

Billy paused there and Dom turned to address him, his hand holding the knife safely away from Billy's body. "What do you see?" he asked gently. "Those words, what do they look like to you?"

Billy frowned a bit, and then he seemed to suddenly understand the question. "Arousal," he answered, and Dom's eyes went wide. Margaret, standing by the stove, stifled a giggle behind her hand. "People… having sex. Bodies moving together…"

"All right, I understand," Dom muttered quickly, his cheeks turning red.

Billy frowned. "You don't like it?"

"No, no, it's just…" Dom sighed. "Maggie, um, well, Maggie's here, and…"

Billy smiled. "Oh, that's okay. Maggie likes it that I like you. I like you a lot," Billy announced, and Dom turned an even deeper red.

"I like you too, Billy," he admitted, though he wished he could think of a way to keep Billy from saying anything too embarrassing without offending him. He really didn't understand the concept of too much information, Dom realised—well, at least Margaret was probably used to it.

"Do you want to see my bedroom after tea?" Billy asked, and Dom bit his lip. _Oh, bloody hell._

Thankfully, Margaret decided he'd had enough embarrassment for the evening, and decided to speak up. "Billy's bedroom is his favourite room in the house. You might like to see how he has it organised."

"Oh," Dom replied, a bit relieved. "Okay. Sure. I'd love to see your room."

Billy grinned.

 

"These are my CDs," Billy explained, facing a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf with hundreds of discs in their jewel cases, looking very neat and tidy. They weren't alphabetised, but if Dom looked at the titles, he could sort of see themes in the types of music and the emotions they might evoke. Others seemed completely random, but he didn't doubt that Billy had a system.

"You have a lot of CDs," Dom commented, feeling a bit useless.

"Yes," Billy agreed, and then he lay down on his bed, looking up at Dom. "Will you lie down with me?"

Dom took a look at the closed door, and then at Billy, and finally desire won out over sensibility. "Okay."

"I like to touch you," Billy admitted when Dom was lying down beside him, their bodies stretched out next to each other.

_Be honest,_ Dom reminded himself. _He's not going to understand modesty._ "I like touching you too," he replied, slipping his hand into Billy's and squeezing.

"When I sleep now, I have dreams about you."

Dom smiled. "What do you dream about?"

"We're on a cloud together, in a magic place where everyone can understand each other. We play the piano, and you can understand everything I play for you. But I can understand when you talk as well, the same way you understand."

Dom closed his eyes briefly and scooted a little closer, feeling the warmth of Billy's body. "That sounds very nice."

"It is," Billy agreed. "Sometimes we touch each other, too. You touch me here," he explained, pressing his own hand between his legs, "and it feels good. Better than when I do it." Dom bit back a moan. _Don't take advantage, do **not** take advantage…_ "Do you want to touch me here, Dom?"

_Oh God._ "Erm… I want to, Billy. But Maggie's downstairs, and she might hear us."

Billy frowned. "She wants me to be happy, though. She says she wants me to be happy."

_Oh, fuck it._

"All right. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Billy frowned. "Yes. You don't want this?"

Dom shook his head quickly, raising his hand quickly to Billy's cheek. "No, no Billy. I do want this. A lot," he admitted. "I just want you to be sure."

"I am sure," Billy replied quickly, and then frowned again. "I don't understand the way you think."

Dom smiled and stroked his thumb over Billy's jaw. "It's all right. Let's not talk now."

Taking a deep breath for courage, Dom pressed his lips to Billy's, and was a bit surprised—but at the same time relieved—to find Billy immediately kissing back, eagerly tasting Dom lips. He'd read somewhere that some autistics were hypersensitive, and though he wasn't sure whether this was the case with Billy, he had to admit to himself that he was eager to find out.

"Billy," he moaned against the other man's lips when Billy's hand slid into his pants, grasping immediately at his erection. "That feels so good…"

Billy gasped and pressed himself against Dom's body, rubbing somewhat frantically against his hipbone. "I like… the way you say my name," he murmured, and Dom smiled.

"Billy," he breathed against Billy's ear. "Billy, Billy, sweet Billy, so fucking good, Billy…"

Billy giggled and stroked a little harder, his hand and his desperate little movements saying everything he couldn't quite formulate in words. Dom felt almost envious of the other man, who could do what pleased him without worrying about social norms, simply because he didn't understand them. It was silly, he knew, but part of Dom wished there was a way for him to be that free.

"More," Dom gasped, and he turned his head, pressing his lips against Billy's and trying to communicate his need in the way he licked the little sounds from Billy's mouth and sucked at Billy's bottom lip. He then bit his own lip so hard he was sure it was going to bleed as he came, suddenly, his hips snapping forward and his head snapping back, the stifled groan needy and loud in his own ears. Billy whimpered, and suddenly Dom lost all desire to be cautious, pushing Billy to his back and crawling quickly down his body before Billy could question it, unzipping his trousers and taking Billy's cock into his mouth.

Billy yelped and Dom's eyes went wide, afraid Margaret would hear and come rushing in, but he couldn't figure out a way to silence him without causing offence. Instead, he sucked quickly, drawing Billy up and over the edge in less than a minute, and wondering as he swallowed greedily whether it would be possible for Billy to come to _his_ flat in the near future. Routine was good, yes, but he _needed_ to hear Billy's scream, not just feel the way he bit down on Dom's fingers when he slipped them hastily into Billy's mouth to keep him quiet.

When Billy had finished, Dom let him slip out of his mouth gently, and lapped slowly at Billy's softened cock, smiling at the little shudders. When Dom pulled his fingers out of Billy's mouth, Billy frowned, seeing the small even teeth marks in the skin. He stared at them for a moment, and then pressed a kiss to the largest one, in the centre of Dom's index finger. Billy's eyes were innocent, and Dom couldn't keep the smile off his face.

_I love you,_ he wanted to say, but that would wait for another day.

 

"I brought Chinese," Dom announced as he stepped inside the flat. Margaret smiled weakly, but it was clearly that Billy wasn't in a good mood. He wasn't even playing the piano, just sitting in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the wall.

"Everything all right?" Dom asked, quietly, as he sat the large bag down on the coffee table.

"Just a bit of a bad day at work," Margaret replied in an equally soft tone, to which Billy replied with a truly impressive pout on his face.

"I can hear you."

"Hi, Billy," Dom greeted, trying for understanding as he approached the other man slowly. "Crap day at work?"

Billy looked up and frowned, as if deciding whether or not to be nice to Dom. "I don't want to work."

"Well, it's six 'o clock now. You don't have to work until tomorrow. I brought food," he offered.

"I'm not hungry."

Dom bit his lip and crouched down in front of Billy, leaning forward and very cautiously kissing his cheek. Billy continued to glare at an indeterminate point in front of his face, but he didn't stop Dom, which he took as a good sign.

"Do you want to play the piano?" Dom suggested.

"I hurt my foot."

Dom frowned and turned to Margaret for explanation. "He tripped," she said. "I was doing some rearranging and he fell. It hurts his ankle to use the pedals."

"Oh." Dom thought for a moment, and then turned to Billy with a smile. "Why don't you play your violin? I've never heard you play that."

Billy continued to pout for another few moments, before he finally looked at Dom and nodded. "All right."

Dom grinned and jumped to his feet, reaching his hands out to Billy, who looked at them for a moment before letting Dom tug him up and into a hug. "C'mon, love. You can play whatever you want. And you don't have to think about those gits at work anymore tonight."

Billy didn't really react, but Dom remained optimistic, leading him to the bedroom and taking a seat on the bed while he watched Billy tune up. Once he was satisfied, he got started on what anyone would call an angry piece, autistic or not, but Dom was patient. He watched Billy get out his frustration through a slew of quick, fiery songs, and when there was a pause he stood and made a suggestion.

"Maggie says you know some Irish music. Could you play me a jig?"

"A what?" Billy frowned.

"Oh, um… Like this. Ba dum ba dum ba dum," he rapped out, with his voice and his hand on his thigh, imitating the 6/8 rhythm until Billy understood. When he got it Billy started playing a fairly fast one and Dom grinned as he started to dance along, horribly, a goofy grin on his face. As he played, Billy laughed, and when Dom finished, flopping down on the bed on his back in exhaustion, Billy flopped down next to him, giggling, violin laid carefully at peace on the pillow before he turned and kissed Dom's jaw.

"Thank you."

Dom grinned. "You are very welcome."

 

"I was wondering," Dom ventured one day, while he and Margaret were at lunch at the sandwich shop across the street from the library, "if you think Billy might be able to come to mine one day?"

Margaret raised an eyebrow at him over her water glass, and he felt the blush go right to his ears. But then she broke into a smile, and shook her head, laughing. "Billy doesn't really have a good idea of what _not_ to tell me," she explained, and Dom's blush grew brighter still. "But I think that might be a good idea. We could walk there together, and then maybe I could stay for a few minutes to make sure he's all right before I leave. It's not that he doesn't like you, Dom, it's just that he doesn't always do well in unfamiliar surroundings…"

"No, I understand. It's fine, Maggie, I just want to see if it'll work. If not, I'll keep coming there; it's not a problem."

"Well, I think for my sanity at least we should try it," she teased. "I don't _really_ need to know how my brother sounds in the throes of passion."

"_Maggie_…"

 

Dom's flat was so clean, it was practically sparkling.

The space was normally an organisational disaster of epic proportions, with only the bookshelves along one wall well kept. The remainder of the surfaces tended to house a melee of papers, books, CDs, films, sheet music, empty food containers, and other rubbish, but all that had changed when Margaret called to let him know that Billy wanted to come over on Saturday.

He wasn't sure whether it would do any good, but with the change in environment, he wanted to at least make sure the small space was clean and inviting for Billy. He was running a dust rag over the piano for the thousandth time when the doorbell rang, and he ran his hands through his hair in a last-minute panic, running to hit the buzzer and let them up.

Margaret was the first in the door, smiling good-naturedly as she kissed Dom's cheek and entered the apartment. Billy hung back slightly in the hallway, but when he saw Dom he moved forward quickly, wrapping his arms around Dom's neck. He wasn't smiling, and Dom was a bit worried, but he squeezed Billy tightly around the waist as the other man nuzzled his nose into Dom's neck, and realised that Billy was probably just clinging to the familiar. Frankly Dom didn't mind, as long as he was the one being clung to, and kept one arm around Billy's waist as he ushered him inside.

"This is my flat, Billy," he said gently as he kicked the door shut behind them. "It isn't much…"

Billy looked around, his eyes darting quickly from bookcase to kitchenette to the couch, and then finally focused in on the piano.

"Would you like to play, love?" Margaret asked with a warm smile, seeing where her brother's attention was directed.

Billy nodded slowly and turned to Dom, looking a bit anxious. "Sit with me?"

Dom smiled and nodded in return, following Billy to the bench. "Of course."

As Dom watched, his hand resting reassuringly on Billy's back and their thighs touching, Billy took more time than usual feeling the keys, running his hands over the instrument and slowly depressing and releasing the sustain pedal. When it became evident that Billy was nervous, seeming afraid to start, Dom leaned in and gently kissed Billy's earlobe, ignoring his sister hovering somewhere in the room.

Billy shivered and his hands jumped on the keys, suddenly launching into a frantic, almost schizophrenic sounding piece that Dom had never heard. He waited patiently for Billy to finish, his hand gently caressing and rubbing the tense muscles of Billy's lower back, and when he did Dom began a much calmer piece, a Chopin nocturne, moving patiently through the measures as Billy's quiet fidgeting next to him began to slow. Billy's next piece, seamlessly joining with the end of Dom's, was a bit slower in tempo, though still slightly sad. Dom looked over his shoulder and nodded wordlessly to Margaret.

She shut the door quietly behind her when she left.

 

"Where do you sleep?" Billy asked in his usual slow, careful tones. They had been playing for more than an hour, meandering through a repertoire of heavy emotional classical pieces and then into some lighter fare, transitioning into a string of almost seductive melodies culminating in Billy's question. Dom's cock rose merrily at what he hoped Billy was suggesting, and he smiled, leaning in impulsively and pressing a kiss to the side of Billy's neck just to feel the man's pulse flutter under his lips.

"Over here," he replied, tugging Billy up from the bench and showing him the little sleeping alcove with a curtain tastefully drawn in the front of it. His double bed was made with dark blue sheets, black and white photographs adorning the three walls of the space. Billy looked around curiously for a moment and then suddenly pushed Dom, hard, both hands flat on Dom's chest so that he flopped onto the bed on his back, caught off guard. For a moment, he stared at Billy in confusion, until the older man broke into a huge grin, clapping his hands merrily and diving shoulder-first onto the bed next to him.

"Comfy," he said with a mischievous grin, laying a hand on Dom's thigh. His index finger landed over one of the many holes that were worn into Dom's favourite pair of jeans, and Dom shivered at the contact.

"It is at that," Dom agreed, sliding sideways a bit and stroking one finger over Billy's forehead, gently kissing each of his eyelids in turn when Billy's eyes fell shut.

Billy sighed lightly and tightened his hand on Dom's thigh. "You make me want to sing," he whispered, and Dom grinned broadly, smearing his lips across Billy's in a kiss that made up in passion for what it lacked in finesse.

"Sing for me, then," he suggested, and Billy frowned for a moment before softly singing a tune that Dom vaguely recognised as a Catholic hymn, the words themselves distorted and strange but the sound joyful. He smiled and closed his eyes and tried to imagine the words as Billy heard them, as shapes and sounds rather than linguistic meaning. After a moment he realised that Billy had stopped singing, but he didn't open his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat when Billy's lips pressed against his own with no prompting from Dom.

"Soft," Billy whispered when he pulled away, his kiss more of a rubbing of his lips against Dom's than anything with a particular rhythm or motive. He didn't suck or bite, but simply felt the texture and pressure of Dom's mouth, and his one-word observation was completely devoid of self-consciousness. Dom's fingers skittered along Billy's hips, contemplating his outer thighs, stopping at his arse, coping a feel with a little squeeze that made Billy giggle.

Billy tugged at Dom's t-shirt, his brow furrowing slightly in frustration. "Off," he pouted, and Dom smiled, tugging the shirt over his head. Before he'd even managed to get the fabric completely off his face, Billy had squirmed down and was applying his tongue to Dom's abdomen, licking each muscle in turn. Billy's movements were a bit odd, but the pressure of his tongue was warm and wet and Dom gasped, his cock growing harder beneath his jeans.

"Good," he whispered encouragingly, his hands curling in Billy's hair. Billy looked up and beamed at him before the tip of his tongue rubbed firmly over a nipple. Dom moaned.

Billy looked up and grinned before he repeated the movement in exactly the same way, and then on the other nipple. Twice. _The little devil…_

Next, Billy opened his mouth over Dom's stomach again, and Dom moaned as his tongue licked little figure eights in and out of Dom's navel. When Billy made it down to the button on his jeans, Dom was already unzipping, holding his cock in one hand but not pushing, letting Billy decide what he wanted to do.

What Billy decided, however, was completely unexpected. First he took a deep breath, inhaling Dom's scent, and then, Dom's fist still wrapped around the base, he started _nuzzling_ Dom's cock with his face. Dom groaned, his muscles tense with the pressure of holding back, as Billy rubbed his cheek and then his mouth along the length of Dom's erection. When he finally put his tongue into the equation, Billy licked as if Dom's cock were a piece of candy, eagerly bathing it from root to tip and then sucking experimentally on the head a moment before getting distracted by Dom's bollocks, which he decided to lick as well.

"Oh bleeding hell, Billy," Dom moaned, and Billy looked up in concern before Dom tangled his hands in Billy's hair and urged him as gently as possible to continue. "No, no, not bad, _so_ good, Billy, so good."

Billy glanced up at Dom again, looking confused, before he tried another lick, probing the soft globe of flesh with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh yeah," Dom moaned, throatily, and Billy smiled.

"Good?"

Dom nodded frantically, trying to push him back down again without being too forceful about it.

"I love it when you touch me there," he explained, using the most direct language he could to make Billy understand. Billy smiled, encouraged, and this time took to suckling enthusiastically at the skin, weighing each sac in turn on his bottom lip and then rolling them around in his mouth. Dom was clutching at the duvet, trying as hard as he could not to come suddenly and ruin it for them both.

"Come up here, love. I want to hold you," he requested, and Billy paused a moment, seeming reluctant to leave his newfound treat, before he gave Dom's bollocks one last parting lick and crawled up to lie atop him.

"You feel warm," Billy observed, and Dom smiled.

"I'm burning up," he explained, "because being with you makes me hot. Do you understand, Billy?"

Billy accepted Dom's kiss eagerly and then nodded as he pulled away. "You make me hot, too."

Dom closed his eyes briefly, biting his lip as his cock twitched happily against the slender bone of Billy's hip.

"I think I love you," Dom whispered, reaching up blindly to run his hand over the curve of Billy's scalp.

Billy frowned. "I love you. Like Maggie."

Dom thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, Billy. Not like Maggie. Come here. Let me explain for you, okay?"

Billy frowned again and then nodded, following Dom out of bed and back over to the piano. As Dom sat, he tried to think of something that would be appropriate, and then settled on a piece he'd written himself, all schizophrenic and jubilant and passionate at once. It wasn't technically astounding by any stretch of the imagination but he put his heart into playing it, sitting shamelessly naked next to Billy on the piano bench. When he finished his eyes remained closed, his fingers still resting on the keys, and Billy reached out, laying one hand on Dom's thigh and the other on his right hand.

"This is… how you love me?" he asked, looking unsure. Dom nodded.

"I wrote that for you. To tell you."

Billy's eyes widened, and then his grin was smashed against Dom's lips as Billy swung one leg over his hips and pressed his erection into Dom's belly. "I… I…"

"Tell me with the piano, Billy," Dom suggested, but Billy shook his head frantically.

"No," he insisted. "You told me so that I could understand. I want to do that for you, too." Dom smiled and reached up to stroke Billy's cheek.

"All right."

"I love you… not like Maggie, but like… sunshine. I love you like sunshine, and perfectly harmonious chords, and my bookshelves. And vanilla ice cream. I love you like vanilla ice cream, too."

"Is that your favourite flavour of ice cream, Billy?" Dom asked. Billy nodded enthusiastically, and Dom pressed his lips hard to Billy's. "I love you like that too. Like vanilla and… chocolate hazelnut."

"Your favourite?" Billy asked.

Dom smiled and nodded, brushing his nose over Billy's in an Eskimo kiss. "Yeah."

"Can we go back to the bed now?" Billy asked eagerly, and Dom giggled.

"Most definitely. I want to make love to you, Billy."

"Make love to me?" Billy asked, frowning at the euphemism.

Dom nodded and took Billy's hand, leading him back to the bed and waiting until he lay down before crawling between his legs. "I want to put this," he explained, holding his cock and giving it one long stroke, "here." He circled the entrance to Billy's body very briefly with one finger, and Billy shivered.

"Does it feel good?"

"It hurts a little, but then it feels good. Really good."

Billy bit his lip, and then tilted his head to the side. "Could I… make love to you, instead?"

_Oh, fuck._

"Yes. Yes yes yes, please Billy. I like that idea. Let's do that."

Billy giggled at Dom's eagerness and pulled him down for a kiss. Dom fumbled blindly in the drawer of his beside table for the lube, finally emerging triumphant. "You have to help me," he explained, taking Billy's hand and squeezing lube over two of his fingers. "Put those inside me, one at a time—slowly, okay?"

Billy nodded as Dom rolled onto his back and then eyed Dom's hole critically, more like a science experiment than a part of the male anatomy. He rubbed one finger in a circle as Dom had done, and smiled when Dom shivered.

"Good?"

"Yes, Billy. Very good. Go on. Just your first finger, slide it in."

Billy rested his free hand on Dom's thigh and pressed his fingertip to the dusky opening before forging on, sliding in to the knuckle before looking up to gauge Dom's reaction.

"Still good?"

"Oh yeah," Dom breathed before giving Billy an encouraging smile and stroking his hair. "Very good. You can twist your finger a little, push it in further. You need to open me up before you can put your prick in, Billy. If you do this it won't hurt me."

Billy nodded and attacked his new task with fervour, corkscrewing his finger inside and then curling it experimentally. Dom sighed happily in response, and so Billy tried again, this time at a different angle.

"Oh _fuck_ yes!" Dom cried, his penis twitching happily on his stomach. "Again, Billy, right there again, oh God, _please_."

Billy grinned and pushed his finger harder over the spot. And again. And again.

"Oh God, Billy, another finger, please, c'mon, fuck, so good," Dom muttered, writhing on the bed with his upper body as Billy smiled and slid another finger inside.

"This makes you very pretty," Billy commented, pushing both fingers hard against the spot inside Dom's stretched arsehole. Dom cried out again, and Billy smiled. "It makes you sing."

Dom couldn't do much more than gape openly as Billy decided to go back to his earlier plan, lapping now like a puppy at Dom's bollocks as he simultaneously curled his fingers rhythmically over the gland, ignoring Dom's bobbing cock as he licked from the skin distended around his fingers to the spot just behind Dom's bollocks, massaging with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh _God_, Billy," Dom groaned. "Fuck me fuck me _please_ fuck me!"

Billy smiled and pulled his fingers out, a little quickly but Dom didn't mind too much. "You want me to put my prick inside you now?"

Dom nodded enthusiastically, though he blushed at Billy's blunt language as Billy held the tip of his penis up to Dom's hole.

"Wait, wait, wait," Dom gasped, reaching again for the drawer and a condom. "Put this on," he instructed. "I want to make sure you're… safe," he explained softly, reaching up and brushing a strand of Billy's hair to the side. "Do you know how?"

Billy shook his head.

"It's okay. Come here; I'll put it on you." Billy scooted forward on his knees, and Dom sat up a bit, ripping the package with his teeth and then rolling the rubber over Billy's erection. "There you are," he murmured with a smile, pressing his lips to Billy's nipple and delighting in the happy gasp. "All safe."

"Now I can put it inside you?" Billy asked, impatiently, and Dom grinned.

"Mmm hmm," he agreed, leaning back against the pillows and spreading his legs up and back, bending his knees. "Please, Billy."

"Okay," Billy agreed with a smile that might have seemed out of place but somehow didn't. He pushed forward in one determined movement, not stopping until their bodies were pressed against each other from shoulder to hip. Dom shivered and clung hard to Billy's shoulders, arching up into the connection between them.

"Move, Billy," he begged after a moment, the stillness making his body itch with need.

"Like this?" Billy asked, rocking his hips gently deep inside Dom. Dom moaned, feeling the subtle movements all the way to his belly.

"Oh God," he gasped. "Never so…. oh God… keep going," he begged, his body completely attuned to Billy's movements, groaning from frustration as Billy continued to rock, not thrusting, just moving his hips inside Dom. He wanted to instruct Billy, to tell him to pull out first and then push back in, but he felt his orgasm fluttering up in his stomach, slow but steady, and his muscles clenched in anticipation. "Ohh…"

"Pretty," Billy whispered, brushing Dom's hair back from his face. He peppered Dom's face with kisses, and Dom whinged high in his throat as he felt his orgasm coming.

"Ahh… ah…"

"Mmmm," Billy purred, his expression utterly content.

"Oh God!" Dom shouted, his hips suddenly convulsing as climax overcame him before he was ready for it.

"Oh," Billy gasped, his expression clearly surprised as Dom's arsehole twitched and clenched around his cock. "Oh, Dominic. Good."

Still shuddering, Dom reached up and stroked Billy's back, his knees still near his ears as Billy rocked back and forth inside him. Billy's hips stuttered quickly now, but his cock was still lodged deep inside Dom's body. "That's it, Billy…" he whispered in encouragement, "…want to feel you."

"Oh," Billy whispered again, tracing the pool of cooling come on Dom's stomach, before he came deep inside Dom, his eyes wide.

"Billy, Billy, beautiful Billy," Dom whispered, laughing, kissing everywhere he could reach as he brought his legs slowly down, wincing at the slight cramp. "Love you, Billy."

"I love you, too," Billy replied, and this time, in a grin that most people would find childish and in a kiss pressed just over Dom's heart, Dom knew he meant it.


End file.
